Through the Senses
by Mendelbra
Summary: During a visit to the graveyard, Hermione finds Severus Snape unexpectedly kneeling in front of a comrade's grave marker. Soon they find themselves scandalously exploring their senses with each other: sight, sound, smell, taste, touch. SSxHG.


**Through The Senses**

_For the Five Days and Senses Challenge_

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine. If it was I would be living in a luxurious castle in Britain. And I would be named JKR.

**Full Summary:** During a visit to the graveyard, Hermione finds Severus Snape kneeling in front of a grave marker. Unexpectedly they find themselves exploring their senses with each other: sight, sound, smell, taste, touch. SSxHG.

**Author's Note:** I am much more of a reader, but this challenge really interested me (see http / www . fanfiction . net / topic / 1714 / 5418961 / 1 /) and my creative juices began to flow. I am also totally taking a break from my dreaded summer reading (God, don't you hate high school!).

**Please review!**

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**Monday--Sight**

A stormy autumn day, the clouds above were seething and writhing, gusts of wind blowing at irregular intervals. Thunder rumbled and trees quivered in response, creating the perfect environment for thoughtful brooding.

Severus curled his lip as he strode to his apothecary from his flat. Usually he Apparated, but the weather reflected his mood so perfectly he couldn't resist. Keeping shop and sending out owl-orders, a boring and thankless job in his opinion, was one of the only professions he could find as a former Deatheater.

He arrived at his shop two hours before its opening hour, placing orders for potions that needed to be restocked, sending out packages, and gathering a few bottled potions from the backroom to place on half-emptied shelves. Most of his orders were owled to him, but occasionally a few customers would walk in.

He checked the giant wood-rimmed clock that hung on the wall behind him.

Seven o'clock.

An hour remained before his store opened. Looking through the window at the tumultuous skies, howling so mournfully, he could only think of one place to be. This time he Apparated.

Here rolling hills were covered by a dark blanket of leaves, and when another gust of wind swept through the foliage delicate teardrops of rain descended from the open sky, falling softly on the white grave markers that dotted the gray landscape.

He stood in front of one and closed his eyes serenely, touching the cool marble. He didn't know how long he stood there, but when he opened his eyes he realized he was not alone.

Hermione Granger stood in front of him, gazing into his eyes. Her hair fell around her face in thick waves, her bright brown eyes bearing into him. He couldn't stop staring at her. A few times she had come into his shop—how she could stand to see him, he didn't know—but never was there this poignancy of connection.

The soft angles of her face, tapered and shallow, and the dark smudges under her eyes showed fatigue, but were offset by her shining eyes. Her lips were chapped and red and pressed together, holding back emotion.

"Severus," she finally greeted softly, inclining her head.

_How could she? _he thought, nodding back. After a long moment, he finally turned and left with only the flutter of his cloak left behind, her image ingrained into his mind.

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**Tuesday—Sound**

Hermione returned to the graveyard the very next day. She was slightly surprised to see _him_ there the day before, kneeling carefully in front of that specificgravestone, but part of her had been expecting Severus Snape one of these days. She only visited occasionally, but deep down she figured they would run into one another sooner or later.

She waited. And waited. She shifted on her toes. She checked her watch. Still, no sight of him. This, too, she had been expecting. So, after a moment of hesitation, she threw up her hands and Apparated.

Severus Snape's apothecary had never been bustling. A dark mahogany door served as a gateway to hundreds of different potion bottles—all unique shapes and sizes with completely different characteristics. One could cure all common illnesses, from a migraine to a toothache, while another, boiled at a certain temperature, could cause death.

Hermione knew she could spends hours in the small store, a haven for an intellectual like herself, but she had never wanted to spend so much time under the watchful eyes of Severus Snape. She was intruding his private domain, inflicting memories of the past that he desperately wanted to disregard.

"Miss Granger." His deep, rich voice reminded her of all those times she sat in the middle of Potions class at Hogwarts, his severe, even ruthless tones antagonizing her, pushing her, punishing her.

"Severus," she bravely looked him in the eye. "Or should I still call you Professor?"

"You may call me Severus," he nodded his head towards her, looking wary, "If you'd prefer, of course."

"Severus it is then. And call me Hermione." A few moments of silence, thick and heady, crept between them.

"I was always curious as to how you came to own an apothecary," Hermione finally said, glancing at the gleaming bottles around her.

"Surprisingly there is an occupation more tedious and mind-numbing than teaching ungrateful brats who have with no propensity for potions: distributing potions. But apparently one with a past such as mine can only make a living as a faceless vendor."

"A past such as yours?" Hermione was indignant. "You'd think you weren't the most successful double agent of all time."

He drew in a stilted breath. "You don't know what I was capable of, what I did! I am no hero, you little girl, and everyone sees it except for you." His voice boomed and a few bottles clattered from the shelves. "I refuse to be that person you keep molding me into just to keep your little world in place."

Hermione stood shocked, her eyes open, her temple scrunching slightly, her fingers clenching together to relieve her anxiety.

"How dare you."

Hermione whispered this quietly, and quickly walked out, the deep timbre of his voice, echoing, echoing, echoing in her head, her whisper growing to fill the small quarters of the apothecary.

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**Wednesday—Smell**

_Meet me at Helga's Café at 12 tomorrow. You know you owe me lunch after yesterday._

_-Hermione_

He marveled at her bravado, her incredible persistence. Why, in Merlin's name, after his biting, nasty words, did she still want to have lunch with him? Yet he knew she was right; he _owed _at least this to her.

So at twelve sharp he entered the small café, a treat for his olfactory senses. The smell of buttery pastries wafted through air, and just barely could he catch the scent of cloves, cinnamon, and the sharp aroma of hot pepper. He found her sitting at a booth next to a window.

"Good afternoon, Mi…Hermione."

Staring out the window, Hermione said nothing while he sat across from her.

"Ron saved your life." Hermione said almost abruptly. She looked at him as his eyes widened. "He jumped in front of Bellatrix's curse and he died instead of you."

For a while Severus was speechless. "Yes he did," he finally bit out. He then forced his voice to be calm, deceptively emotionless, "And I completely understand how you would feel towards me being that…"

"No," Hermione interrupted, "I don't think you do. I don't think you understand how I feel at all" Taking a slow breath, she continued. "I cried for weeks, months even. I was depressed, so lost, I didn't even know how I was supposed to go on. But I did. Eventually. I moved on."

She clasped her napkin. "But it's been years, Severus! Every time I walk into your store I can feel your guilt like something solid. I can't stay there, even though I _want _to browse through potions for hours and hours, because I don't want to burden you," she chuckled ironically, "_I _don't want to burden _you!"_

His jaw clenched. "Did you just bring me here to tell me this? That you feel guilty because you _think _I feel guilty?" His nostrils flared. "I have no need for your pity, girl."

He slid himself off of the booth and stalked outside. Taking a few deep breaths, he prepared to Apparate when he suddenly felt the impact of another body.

"It's Hermione." She had her hands wrapped around him, her nose buried in the depths of his cloak. Musty and rich, her nose was filled with the spicy scent of him. She could picture an old wooden cottage or even a vast landscape, all through his scent. "Not girl. And it's not pity, it's compassion."

"Same thing," his voice rumbled.

"Show me your shop," she requested, her arms still around him. They whirled away, in a flash of apparition, the smell of buttered bread, spicy musk, and flowery perfume wafting all around them.

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**Thursday—Taste**

Hermione's heart fluttered in her throat. She could not believe she felt this way. She absolutely could not believe it.

Yesterday after lunch Severus immediately took her to his shop, the tension in his body evident from the tendons that showed in his neck. Immediately she inquired about certain potions that had always interested her and as he explained the properties of the various substances he eventually relaxed completely.

They spent the whole day talking, eating (hours later they ordered from Maggio's Pizzeria), and discussing their unfulfilling occupations. Hermione, Severus discovered, would gladly give up her Ministry job to open a small shop. _Like this one actually, _she had shyly mentioned, running her hand over one of the lacquered shelves.

Using one of her allotted vacation days, she was back today, helping Severus organize a new shipment of potions from France. She actually _liked_ him. She had felt the flutterings of attraction yesterday, but now she knew for sure.

The first man since Ron, really. Of all ironies.

She wanted to know more about him. She wanted to talk him again, hear his bitter and barbed observations; she wanted to see him again; and by Merlin, she wanted to hug him, touch him again.

"'_Oculus Colubri_'," Hermione read, "This goes on the shelf over…oooff!" She found herself encased in Severus' chest and turned around, looking into the eyes that were staring intently back into hers.

His hand came up and touched her cheek, ever so slightly. "Hermione, I think you should go." She could feel the rough tips of his fingers.

"What?" She stared wide-eyed at him.

He sighed. "I think I may have formed…inappropriate feelings for you. And I don't think you can work here in a professional capacity."

Her heart beat even faster. "Really? _In_appropriate feelings?" He looked confused. She reached up to touch his cheek, drawing his gaze back to her. "Thank, Merlin," she breathed.

For a moment his eyes showed surprise while his face remained emotionless. "Thank, Merlin? That doesn't sound like someone who's horrified or completely put out," he mused.

"No, but someone _will be _completely put out if a certain other person doesn't move a little closer and accomplish what an intelligent person would have figured to do by now."

"So you want me to move…"

And with both hands, he grabbed her face and kissed her fully. Oh Merlin, she could taste him, so full of salt and force and sweetness that she almost drowned.

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**Friday—Touch**

His hands grazed her thighs and sensually dropped down to her knee, teasing her cruelly. She worked at Severus' apothecary all morning and afternoon and neither could keep their hands to themselves. A graze of flesh here, a teasing touch there. Nothing too obvious, of course.

As he was locking up, casting shielding charms, she took him by the shoulder and whispered soothingly, "Come to my place."

Jerking back in surprise, he looked at her seriously, searching her face for the meaning of her words. "What?" She didn't say anything, continuing to look into his eyes.

"This will only be sex, nothing else, you know," he said finally.

"I know." And she did. They were going to have sex. They were not going to make love. Because, certainly, they were not in love.

But he was wrong too, she thought. This wasn't going to be just down-and-dirty, lustful, animalistic sex; neither of them were that type of people. She trusted him and she knew he trusted her far more than anyone he had known in a long time.

Apparating into her bedroom, they discovered the last and most intimate of the five senses: touch. And no words could describe their bliss.

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A/N: Thanks for reading!!

(And yeah, I sort of cheated there on the last sense. But hey, no words could describe the bliss they felt, so I guessed I shouldn't even try to write any words to describe what they felt. On a totally unrelated note, I just saw Ironman and it was _really _good...yeah, I'm random. Review please!)


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